


Houndstooth and Gray

by LittleMousling



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Canon Queer Character, M/M, Power Play, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-11
Updated: 2010-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/pseuds/LittleMousling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adam's concerns about Brad's Twitter may be less about PR than about his own regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Houndstooth and Gray

**Author's Note:**

> In the opening tweet, Brad and @CatnipandHoney are referencing the Hanky Code, a system developed during the time in US history when it could be illegal or otherwise dangerous for gay men to openly approach other men for sex.
> 
> Placing a colored hanky in one's back pocket (generally left for topping or giving the act, right for bottoming or receiving) could indicate the wearer's interest in a particular act. The hanky system is rarely used today, but remains a well-remembered part of gay history and can sometimes be seen in action at hanky-code-themed parties or on individuals who want to wear their preference on their sleeve--or, rather, on their pants.
> 
> [Hanky Code basics on Wikipedia.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanky_code)

_GoCheeksGo It would be houndstooth, in the right pocket. ;) - RT @catnipandhoney Say your pants had pockets. What colour would your hanky be?_

Adam rolled his eyes and switched over to text mode. _thx a lot. theyre gonna assume shti abt me now_

Brad was as quick as ever: _Well, they'll be right. Anyway, it's not like there isn't photo evidence everywhere._

Fucker. Adam hit Talk, pulling a bottle of wine out of the cabinet as he waited for Brad to pick up.

"Adam, seriously—"

"Brad. They are going to swarm. And you are going to get pissy with me again. And it will not be my fault." Adam could almost hear Brad rolling his eyes.

"I do not get pissy. I got reasonably irritated at being harassed just because you had to go and get famous." Well, that was the understatement of the year, Adam thought. Brad hadn't spoken to Adam for weeks after that one woman tried to follow him home from the LA concert.

"Well, now you're just contributing. Don't come crying to me when they try to get details out of you."

"So now I can never talk about sex without it being about you? Don't flatter yourself."

Adam ground his teeth. "Yeah, fine, you get fucked twice a night, whatever, but they're going to think it's about me, asshole."

"I really don't have to take this abuse, you know. I can hang up on you."

"But you aren't."

"Fuck if I know why, though. Anyway, at least I didn't say yellow or something." Adam grimaced. There were definitely worse colors, public-relations-wise.

"Please, you're this close to being a germophobe, you'd never do watersports."

"I could too. Urine is sterile. Isn't it?" Brad's pout was almost audible. Adam held the phone with his shoulder, smiling now, and opened the wine.

"I think that's a myth. But still, you could have said navy, for fuck's sake. God knows you're—"

"Don't finish that sentence, Lambert."

Adam grinned. "What, I shouldn't say you're a big nelly bottom? I mean that in the nicest way, baby." He poured some wine into a glass, holding the phone so Brad could hear the splash.

"Drinking alone, are we? Next up, cocaine and prescriptions. Stop inviting La Lohan everywhere, she's getting to you."

"She's not so bad. Ferras likes her." Adam felt kind of bad for her, anyway, and—although he'd never tell Brad this—he couldn't help but see the benefit in her paparazzi trail.

"Ferras likes everyone who dresses worse than he does. No wonder you two are still so close."

"You wound me. Also, says the man with the legging fetish."

"It is not a fetish, it is a lifestyle choice. And don't pretend my ass doesn't look fantastic in them."

Adam raised an eyebrow, then remembered Brad couldn't see him. "Your ass would look fantastic in a barrel, but that doesn't mean it's appropriate outerwear."

Brad hummed in response. "They won't automatically assume you're into it, you know. They'll think you did it for me a couple of times or that it's why we broke up or you're secretly hot for middle-aged women or whatever they always think."

"Holy subject change, Batman."

"No one says that anymore, Adam." Brad sounded serious now. "Really, it's not—it doesn't need to be a big deal."

"I just don't want them—"

"Adam. Are you ashamed of our sex life?"

Adam didn't know how to answer that without getting into a conversation he didn't want to have. Before he could come up with something, Brad took the silence as answer enough.

"Right," he growled, "Right. Well, good to fucking know, you goddamned poser asshole." Brad hung up—just a click, but Adam supposed that if he'd had a landline phone, Brad would have slammed it down.

Shit. Adam threw back the glass of wine and redialed. No answer. Voicemail, though—"Brad. I'm not ashamed. I'm just, whatever, stupid. Call me back."

Adam prided himself on not getting worked up over stupid shit, but Brad had always been the exception to the rule. Those two weeks after the LA concert, not to mention the first few months after they broke up, had sucked.

"Fuck this," he said, and grabbed his keys. At least this time he could go over and talk some sense into him.

***

Adam had a cordial relationship with Brad's roommate; these days, the guy mostly just wanted to be sure paparazzi weren't going to get confused and stalk him, so Adam reassured him the moment he opened the door. "No paps, Parker, I swear. Lemme in?"

Parker didn't look reassured. "Yeah, but no. He's pissed at your ass."

"Aww, come on, man, you know how long it takes to get here in afternoon traffic? I just want to apologize."

"The fact that you live in Ritzville ain't my problem, rock star. Gimme something better than that, so I can defend myself when he goes batshit on me."

"Oh, for—fine. What do you want?"

Parker grinned. "Introduce me to that hot dancer dude from your video?"

Adam closed his eyes briefly and sighed. "Fine. Which—never mind. Give me the details later."

"Yeah, man," Parker said, nodding and opening the door, wide-eyed, "I have a bunch of pictures, I'll get 'em for you."

Adam decided not to think about that in detail. "Can you make yourself scarce in the meantime?"

"Shit, yeah, he's gonna yell. I don't want to be here for that anyway. I'll text you the photo later—Brad has your number."

Boy, does he ever, Adam thought, as Parker scurried out the door. He sighed and walked over to Brad's bedroom door.

"Hey. You know I'm here, open up." There was a thump as something hit the door from the inside. "Don't you know you lose the moral high ground when you use the same shit on me you used on your parents?"

Brad flung the door open. "Don't even, you fucker. You—you closeting asshole, I can't even look at you."

"Oh, come on, like you could even fit in a closet anymore with your wig collection." Brad's jaw tightened visibly, and Adam grimaced. Shit, that wasn't how this was supposed to go.

"Right, 'cause it's the wigs that make me a fag, not the taking it up the ass. Fuck, are you even listening to yourself? 'Hey, Brad, can you maybe just tell all the precious little glamberts that I like roses and puppies and cuddling? And maybe something about how big my dick is?'" Brad pushed past Adam into the living room, bracing his arms on the back of the couch and staring fixedly away.

"I didn't say that, come on. Just because I don't need a PR nightmare about, whatever, Adam Lambert's secret fetishes on E!, that doesn't mean I'm ashamed." Adam grasped his wrists behind his head and stretched, but the tension in his neck wasn't going anywhere.

"Well, you're doing a fucking good impression of it. 'Look at me, I can fake getting head on live TV as long as I'm wearing fourteen layers of strictly men's clothing, but God forbid someone think I might actually have naked sex with men for realsies!'"

"Come the fuck on, I'm like the gayest fucking person out there right now. And you said yourself there's photo evidence. All of goddamned middle America has seen me in a dress, you fucker."

"What, and that's my fault? I cannot believe that you're actually—that you're actually talking like you regret—fuck, how dare you, you fame-whore asshole." Brad spit the epithet out, spinning to face him.

"Please, I'm the fame whore? Like half your followers aren't just hoping you'll spill some dirty detail?" Adam wasn't even sure what the fuck they were arguing about anymore, but he couldn't be the one to give in, not now, not with Brad.

"Oh, right, because none of us could possibly have fans that aren't a reflection of you, just like Cassidy's secretly an Adam wannabe, is that it? How does your ego fit in those stupid fucking jeans? Did your dick shrink to accommodate it?"

"It's not my fault that that's how the world works, OK? They want an in, and you're it, and you just have to fucking deal with that!"

Brad's crossed arms tightened, biceps straining at his sleeves. "So you get to say you're fucking vanilla in every interview, and I just never get to say anything that might make middle America think you're lying your ass off, even when it's not fucking about you?"

"You know what I mean by that! It's not like I'm into anything weird. Everybody does biting and light bondage and shit."

Brad's voice rose to a bellow. "Then why the fuck can't anyone know you're into it?"

"I just don't want them to constantly fucking remind me, is that so fucking difficult to understand?" Adam yelled, and then wished he hadn't.

Brad uncrossed his arms, slowly. He still looked angry. Maybe confused. Fuck, Adam was going to have to actually say it. "I mean—Brad. It's not easy. Photos of us are everywhere. I can't get distance. I used to have distance. And I see that and I see them tweeting shit to me about, about biting and your eyes and I just don't want to deal with it anymore, OK? I'm not that—it took me a long time to get over you, and I don't want to have to do it again because some fucking idiots on the Internet can't leave well enough alone."

He paused. "Shit."

"Yeah," Brad replied, and laughed, short and sharp.

Adam rubbed his eyes. "Fuck, can we just—I wanna sit down." He walked around the couch and slumped in the corner of it, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

The couch settled next to him, and he felt Brad lean against his side. "You're not really helping, you know," Adam said.

"Yeah. I get that."

He didn't say anything else, and Adam was stuck with his own thoughts. Shit, shit, shit. He shouldn't have said all of that. Something about Brad's face always made him say more than he planned. He should have just apologized, said he was tired, blamed management, something. Fuck.

"I should go. I'm gonna go." Adam lifted his head and found Brad staring right at him, big eyes fixed on his own.

"I don't have distance anymore," Brad said, almost too quiet to hear.

Adam swallowed. "Yeah, well, maybe if you sat over there."

"Don't be cute." Adam started to reply, and Brad cut him off. "Don't. Just—I don't have distance anymore. Tell me to fuck off or tell me you don't either, but don't be cute."

Adam had never exactly prided himself on impulse control. He should probably think about this, but—"I don't. Have distance anymore. I don't really want to. There's been too much distance, it's killing me."

Brad was still staring at him, and it was almost too much, too vulnerable.

Brad leaned in and kissed him, soft, just the slightest pressure, sliding a hand around Adam's ribs. Adam felt something in his chest loosen, and he felt drunk suddenly, giddy with relief. "This is better. Closer. Whatever."

Brad rubbed his cheek against Adam's. "Shh." He sucked Adam's earlobe into his mouth. Adam wrapped his arms around Brad and pulled him closer. Brad felt so good against him, like no one had, lately—well, no one he could let himself think about, anyway. Brad was his prototype, the shape his arms ached for when he held anyone else.

Brad kissed Adam's neck, moving from his ear to his collar. Adam wasn't sure what was going on, exactly, but it felt fucking fantastic, better than soft kisses had any right to feel. "Brad, what—"

"Shh," Brad said again, and ran a hand under Adam's t-shirt, rubbing his back. He licked along his collar, and then lifted the shirt, lowering his head to kiss Adam's chest. He kissed across Adam's collarbone, bunching the shirt up into his armpits, and licked over a nipple, feather-soft.

Adam was trying his best to stay still and let Brad do whatever it was Brad was doing, but fuck, he really needed to—Brad blew cool air over his wet nipple and that was it, Adam lifted Brad and threw him down on the couch, climbing on top of him and licking into his mouth. He grasped Brad's wrists and pressed them into the couch above his head, bit Brad's lower lip and sucked on it. "God, Brad," he panted, scraping his teeth down Brad's neck.

Brad laughed. "You see? You can't play that part for five minutes. This is you, Mr. Aries Moon. You're—houndstooth and gray and, whatever, the color for drag. You couldn't pull real vanilla off if you tried, not even if fucking Perez was watching."

"I wouldn't be able to get it up for any kind of sex at all if Perez was watching," Adam said, but Brad didn't let him get away with it.

"Say it. Say this is you. Not the missionary-position-rose-petal shit you've been selling, this." Brad tugged against where Adam had his wrists pinned in emphasis.

Adam growled. "And what if I don't?"

Brad smirked. "Then you don't get to fuck me."

Adam couldn't think of anything he wouldn't say to get that right now. Eighteen months was too fucking long to go without Brad's legs wrapped around him. "Yes, yeah, this is—this is me. I have fucking dreams about holding you down and fucking you through the mattress, is that what you want me to say? I love biting you, I love tying you up, I love rimming you and, and fucking ordering you around in bed. All right?"

Brad just kissed him, rough, clacking their teeth together and sucking Adam's tongue into his mouth. He struggled a little against Adam's hands, and Adam had a thought. "Do you still use 'Dallas'?"

"With you? I'll just use stop. No need to get fancy." Adam supposed that was a nice way for Brad to say he'd changed safewords after they'd broken up. He tried not to think about the other men who'd had this since then.

"Bite me more," Brad said, interrupting his thoughts. Yeah, that sounded good. Adam bit the sharp corner of Brad's jaw, his earlobe, the jutting tendon in his neck. Brad arched up into Adam's body, and Adam felt the press of his cock for the first time.

"Keep your hands there," Adam ordered, and let go of Brad's wrists so he could unbutton Brad's shirt and push it open. He grasped Brad's hips, loving the feel of almost spanning them with his long fingers, and started biting Brad's chest. He moved randomly, focusing on Brad's sensitive spots, remembered and apparent. Brad moaned like a champion; it was better than sonar for picking out the best spots to settle into, bite and suck until they reddened.

Adam bit one of Brad's nipples, and Brad whined, low and penetrating. Adam felt like Brad's noises were wrapping around his cock, pressed hard and uncomfortable against his zipper.

"I gotta—" He opened his pants, sighing with relief as he pulled his cock out, and then pulled Brad's pants down as well, making sure the stretchy waistband wasn't pressing anywhere too sensitive.

Brad leaned up and kissed him again, still not moving his wrists off the couch, and Adam couldn't even handle how fucking hot that was, Brad holding himself still because Adam had told him not to move. Adam lifted Brad a little, sliding a hand underneath him and down the back of his pants, cupping his ass and running a fingertip over his opening.

"Where's your stuff?" Adam asked, biting at Brad's collarbone.

Brad wiggled into his hand. "Bedroom, lemme go get it." Adam kissed him again and sat back a little to let him go. Brad didn't move. "Tell me I can move," he said, looking at Adam through his lashes.

Adam shivered, mouth watering at the idea that Brad was submitting so totally to Adam's control even with the unresolved fight hanging over their heads. "Fuck, now I'm never letting you up," Adam said, and kissed him again, frantic, rubbing against Brad's hip. "You are so fucking hot."

"You—you are, too. God. Let me just—let me just get the stuff, it'll be worth it."

"Forget it, let's just do this," Adam said. "This is good." He thrust against Brad's belly for emphasis, then sighed and pulled back a little. "OK, OK, go before I change my mind."

Brad extricated himself, pushing his shirt and pants the rest of the way off as he walked into his bedroom and rifled through a drawer. Adam couldn't stop staring at Brad's ass—had it been that fucking perfect when they were together? Or—maybe he meant, when they were last together? Fuck, what were they doing?

He didn't want to worry about it, not when he had Brad naked and hard, getting supplies so Adam could fuck him. So he pulled up off the couch, stripping his own clothes off as he went.

He caught Brad returning with the lube and a condom and pushed him against the wall by the bedroom door.

"Mmm," Brad moaned, handing Adam the lube and tucking the condom under his arm to warm it. "You gonna fuck me up against the wall, big man?"

Adam's only reply was to push his hips into Brad's stomach and bend down to kiss him. He opened the lube by touch and slicked his fingers, then dropped to his knees and pushed one into Brad without preamble. "Fuck, yeah," Brad breathed, and Adam bit him near the bottom of his ribcage, hard, wanting to see the mark rise up.

Brad moaned. "Mmph—fuck. Harder." Adam bit a new spot on Brad's side, worrying the skin between his teeth and pushing another finger into Brad's ass. "God."

Brad grabbed Adam's head, pressing him in until Adam bit again, right over his hipbone. "Fuck, ow, don't stop," Brad panted. Adam tilted his head up and smirked at him. "You stopped, you bastard, come on!"

"I just love it when you get all power bottom on me, that's all."

"Yeah, you know you—jesus!" Adam had twisted his fingers inside Brad, rubbing almost too hard against his prostate. "Fuck, another now, come on." Adam obliged, wondering if Brad would want a fourth. They'd tried fisting once, but it was too much effort for the orgasm, or so Brad had said.

Adam let Brad pull him back against his taut stomach and nibbled there, having trouble getting purchase. "You need a little more to bite here. Ice cream after, whataya say?" Brad just groaned and let the condom drop to the floor. Adam picked it up with his free hand and held it against Brad's hip to keep it warm.

Adam bit Brad's hipbone once more, sucking on the skin and raising a nice red mark, and then he turned towards Brad's cock instead. Catching the head between his lips, he slid down on it, wetting his lips and sucking just a little until Brad's breath caught.

"Fuck, wait, want—fuck me already, come on." Brad pushed Adam away, staring at his mouth.

Adam licked his lips, liking the attention and wanting to tease Brad a little. "What was that? I didn't catch it."

"I said go fuck yourself," Brad replied, but there was no venom in it.

"Come on. Say it." Adam nipped at Brad's thigh. "Say it for me."

"Do they make a hanky for conceited tops seeking validation? We should make one for you."

Adam twisted his fingers, drawing a noise from Brad's throat. "Just say it."

Brad scowled down at him. "Fine, you big caveman, I want you to fuck the shit out of me, is that—" Before he finished Adam had pulled Brad's hips over his shoulder and pushed to his feet, knees creaking in protest. He carried Brad back into his bedroom and lowered him onto the comforter.

At least lying down again eliminated some of the height issues. He kissed Brad as they pulled Brad's legs up. Adam paused when Brad's calves were around his chest but Brad grasped the backs of his knees and pulled them back, settling his legs over Adam's shoulders.

"God bless yoga," Adam said, tearing open the condom package. He rolled the latex over his cock, glad they'd warmed it, and gave himself a couple of strokes with his lube-slick hand before pushing into Brad, hard enough to make him gasp and clutch at his own knees.

Adam started to thrust, regular and steady, settling into a remembered angle that made Brad keen in the back of his throat. He ran a hand across Brad's chest and twisted a nipple before bending forward and kissing the fuck out of Brad. He couldn't keep up the rhythm and kiss him at the same time, though, so he reluctantly pulled away.

Brad was hot and tight around his cock, and Adam closed his eyes for a moment to focus on the sensation. How had he gone without this for so long? Not just this, but everything, having Brad's legs around him and Brad's moans in his ears and, when he opened his eyes, Brad's gorgeous face strained with desire under him. He wanted to make this so good for Brad, so good he'd never want anyone else again.

"Touch yourself," he murmured, taking hold of Brad's right leg so Brad could let go, slide his hand down to his cock and stroke it, long and slow, wrapping his finger and thumb in a tight ring and leaving his other fingers loose, the way he always liked it.

"You look so good like that, baby. You look so good getting fucked." Brad purred, and then smiled.

"Pretty androgynous elves, Adam? You know all the shit you say gets back to me." Adam laughed and thrust hard into Brad, making him throw his head back and squeeze his cock.

"You are," and he punctuated each word with a short thrust, "you are my favorite pretty, androgynous elf." He turned his head to the side and bit into Brad's calf, and Brad slid his hand up so Adam could bite his wrist instead, sensitive and with that perfect little hint of risk.

They didn't even have to talk about their movements, Adam thought; they were still in sync, still knew what the other wanted as soon as they wanted it. He hadn't had that level of connection with anyone else, before or after Brad, and it felt amazing to have it again.

Adam released Brad's wrist and looked down at him, stroking himself faster than Adam was thrusting, now, and starting to wiggle around on the bed. Adam knew those signs, and he hunched his back, giving Brad short, fast thrusts, trying to hit his prostate on every one.

Brad's moans were getting high and thin; Adam wasn't sure he knew he was making noise at all. He slid a hand down, careful to maintain his balance, and scraped his fingernails over the marks on Brad's neck, his collarbone, over the nearest nipple and the big bruise purpling up on his side.

Brad's moan rose to a cry and he arched forward, eyes squeezed shut. Adam felt Brad clench around his cock as he came, rocking up into the thrust and staying there, tight as a bowstring, and then his whole body relaxed, settling into the bed, legs falling limp until Adam caught them and kept them up, so he could push deep into Brad's body and rock back and forth, quick and hard, until he came as well, grunting with the intensity of it.

Adam let himself pant in place for a moment, then pulled out, pulling Brad's legs off his shoulders and removing the condom. He tied it off and dropped it, then settled on his stomach next to Brad, leg over Brad's and head tucked into his collarbone.

Brad wrapped an arm around Adam's back, stroked him in slow, soothing circles, tilted his head down to nuzzle into Adam's hair.

"Missed this. I still—I've missed you so much," Adam murmured against Brad's shoulder, not sure whether he was more nervous that Brad would hear him or that he wouldn't.

"Me too," Brad said, just as soft. Adam swallowed.

"You know I'm doing international promo for the next few months."

"I had heard something about that, yeah."

"I won't be around much. Or at all."

"Yeah." Brad sounded resigned, and out of the corner of his eye Adam saw him turn his head away. His hand paused in its circles on Adam's back. That wasn't what Adam wanted.

"But I don't leave for a few weeks. And I'll be back. And—I wouldn't ask you to, to wait, but maybe—maybe when I get back—"

Brad's hand came up to curl around Adam's head. "Give me the time until you leave, and then we'll talk."

Adam took a deep breath. "I can work with that."

"I'm still mad at you about some of that shit you said. And we still need to talk about—boundaries."

"Yeah."

"But maybe we can just lie here and be quiet for a while, first."

Adam smiled into Brad's collarbone, kissed it. "That sounds like a plan."

**Author's Note:**

> I got permission from @CatnipandHoney to use her twitter name in the (real) tweet that appears in the story. You can read her fic, which features a variety of pairings with emphasis on Adam/Tommy, at [Magenta Fic](http://magenta-fic.livejournal.com).


End file.
